


Luxe

by sciencefictioness



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Collars, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Light BDSM, Lingerie, M/M, Sex Toys, Sub Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 12:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15267306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: The comforter is dark indigo, just like Viktor’s curtains, his rug.  Thick, velvety under his fingers, ridiculously luxurious for something Viktor is about to ruin.  His lights are muted, nothing but the low glow from the bulbs hanging down over his bed.  Everything else Viktor might want is already within arms reach, tucked out of sight behind a pillow.  He kneels, not quite sitting on his heels— calves tucked up against his thighs, displaying as much of the stockings as he’s able.  He rests his hands on fabric where it meets his skin, palms down, thumbs sliding back and forth across the lace.  Viktor sits up straight, and holds his breath, and waits.Fine leather, shining platinum, flawless nails, rich silk.  An endlessly kissable mouth, made up to perfection.When Yuuri answers the video call, Viktor is the picture of lavish, decadent submission.





	Luxe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiokushitaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiokushitaka/gifts).



> I'm just, fucking weak to Viktor, he's pretty, okay?

It feels wrong to do it himself.

 

His hands don’t shake, but it’s a close thing, and Viktor fumbles over the clasp more than once before he gets it fastened around his throat.  

 

Yuuri is the one who always does this, tightens the collar on Viktor’s neck, tugs it into place with sure fingers.  Runs them reverently over it, pulling on the ring, platinum set against pure white leather. He slips his fingers underneath, careful that Viktor has enough room to breathe, to swallow without hurting himself.

 

Yuuri does this, but he is too far away right now.  There are oceans between them, and Viktor  _ needs  _ it, the feel of the fur on his skin, the leather snug and safe.  Yuuri has given him permission, assured Viktor that he is allowed, but the underlying sensation of disobedience doesn’t dissipate right away.

 

Viktor just wants to be good.

 

The cuffs on his wrists are easier, even if it’s a bit of a struggle to get them tight enough with just one hand.  Viktor holds them with his knees and fastens them, positioning the rings just right. The stockings come next, silk sliding smoothly up his legs and settling high on his thighs.  Viktor clips the lacy tops into his garter belt, adjusting the straps on the sides until they’re stretched taut. His ankle cuffs go on last; they’re wider than his wrist cuffs, and they make him feel more delicate than he really is, more fragile.

 

Viktor likes it, making himself vulnerable for Yuuri, being something small and yielding and obedient.

 

He palms his thighs for a moment, nails shimmering pink against the white of his stockings, the splash of color contrasting sharply.  It makes him suddenly, acutely aware of what else he is wearing, the plug shifting around subtly inside him, keeping him ready for what might lay ahead.  Viktor huffs, and rolls off the bed, padding across the room to the vanity. 

 

There is a tube of lipstick on it, and Viktor pops off the cap, and twists the base.  Drags the lipstick slowly over his lips, coating them in the same blush pink as his nails, mouth shining and glossy.  Then he tosses the tube back down, and runs a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to take a brush to the strands.

 

Yuuri likes it this way, a bit tousled, falling over his face.

 

Viktor stares into the full length mirror that stands up against the wall near the bed, and tries to see himself through Yuuri’s eyes— clad in white cuffs, thick white fur peeking out from underneath them.  Collared, and trussed up in silk. Soft stockings and intricate lace, every bit of it picked out by Yuuri for Viktor to wear. Cheeks already threatening to blush, cock half hard, and Viktor can’t wait any longer.

 

Patience has never been his strong suit.

 

His laptop is open on the desk, arranged carefully where it needs to be to show him from the most flattering angle, yet still let him see Yuuri on the screen.  Viktor clicks a few times, bringing up the right screen and selecting Yuuri’s name before scrambling onto the mattress. 

 

The comforter is dark indigo, just like Viktor’s curtains, his rug.  Thick, velvety under his fingers, ridiculously luxurious for something Viktor is about to ruin.  His lights are muted, nothing but the low glow from the bulbs hanging down over his bed. Everything else Viktor might want is already within arms reach, tucked out of sight behind a pillow.  He kneels, not quite sitting on his heels— calves tucked up against his thighs, displaying as much of the stockings as he’s able. He rests his hands on fabric where it meets his skin, palms down, thumbs sliding back and forth across the lace.  Viktor sits up straight, and holds his breath, and waits. 

 

Fine leather, shining platinum, flawless nails, rich silk.  An endlessly kissable mouth, made up to perfection. Pink cheeks, and a hard cock, the crown wet where it’s peeking from his foreskin.

 

When Yuuri answers the video call, Viktor is the picture of lavish, decadent submission.

 

The window flickers to life, and then Yuuri is there on screen, still in his training clothes.  Sweaty, obviously exhausted, leaning back against the headboard of some ugly hotel bed. They haven’t been apart all that long, there’s only a short window where their schedules don’t line up this season, but it feels like forever since he’s had Yuuri with him in their room.  Yuuri takes him in, and smiles, and Viktor is suddenly incandescent. 

 

He is never prettier than when Yuuri’s eyes are on him.

 

Yuuri’s breath catches, and then leaves him in a rush, gaze flitting hungrily over the screen.

 

_ “Vitka,”  _ he says, overwhelmed, and then covers his face with both hands, fingers slipping under his glasses and nudging them high on his forehead.  Viktor preens, raising his chin and smiling wider, the unspoken praise washing over him in a wave.

 

“Yuuri,” he sing-songs, and Yuuri drags his hands down his face, leaving one over his mouth as he blinks at Viktor.  “How was practice, solnyshko?” The seconds draw out, like Yuuri is having trouble comprehending English, and Viktor swallows down his smugness with some effort.

 

“It-  It was fine.  I think that... that’s-  _ fuck,  _ look at you, I don’t even remember what I did in practice today.”  Yuuri sits up a bit, and he doesn’t look dazed anymore, doesn’t look dumbstruck.  He looks focused, and sharp, and Viktor shivers as Yuuri rakes his eyes over him. “Kneel up, let me see you.”

 

Viktor is happy to oblige, lifting up higher on on his knees, running his palms up his thighs.  He slides his fingers under the edge of his stockings, toys with the straps on his garter belt, Yuuri watching his every move like a hawk.  He’s completely hard now, cock throbbing and desperate for attention, but he doesn’t touch himself. Won’t, not until Yuuri tells him to— patience isn’t Viktor’s strong suit, unless it’s for Yuuri.

 

“Christ, Vitka.”

 

Everything is easier with Yuuri there, telling him how good he is, how beautiful.

 

Yuuri swears under his breath, and makes a twirling motion with his index finger, hand over his mouth again as he stares.  Viktor turns until his back is to the camera and drops down on his hands and knees. He reaches around and takes a generous handful of his own ass, parting his cheeks to show Yuuri what’s nestled between them.  Viktor looks over his shoulder, watching Yuuri watch him on the screen, eyes dark and enraptured. 

 

The plug Viktor is wearing is the only thing that Yuuri didn’t hand pick.  A surprise, the rose colored glass bulb smooth and heavy inside him, but all Yuuri can see right now is the oversized gemstone inset in the base.  

 

“It’s a pink topaz,” Viktor says, prodding at the edges of the plug, letting his fingers ease under the flared base to feel where it’s stretching him.  It took weeks for the toy to arrive, a custom piece with Yuuri’s birthstone, but the look on his face is well worth the trouble. The significance of the stone is not lost on Yuuri, who huffs a strained laugh.

 

“Is this my present, then?”  Yuuri asks, and Viktor makes an indignant noise.

 

_ “Yuuri.   _ No.”

 

Viktor doesn’t elaborate, because Yuuri knows better, honestly.  As if Viktor doesn’t have a dozen presents for him, wrapped and waiting for his return to St. Petersburg.

 

“Okay, I’m sorry.”  Viktor starts to turn back around, but Yuuri stops him halfway.  “No, no, stay like you are. I wasn’t done with you.”

 

The way Yuuri says it is easy, and confident, like he has absolutely no doubt that Viktor will do as he asks.  Casual. There’s no need to imbue it with command, not when Viktor is always so desperate to obey. 

 

_ I wasn’t done with you,  _ and Viktor shudders, and gets down on his elbows and knees.

 

He doesn’t want Yuuri to be done with him, not now, not ever, and he raises his ass high into the air without an ounce of shame.

 

“Show me again, I want to see,” Yuuri says, so Viktor reaches back around, fingers digging in where his ass meets his thighs.  He tugs, exposing himself to Yuuri’s gaze, the skin around the plug shining with lubricant. It’s on his fingertips now, too, and they want to slip against his ass, leave wet streaks behind.  Viktor holds himself open, holds still, letting Yuuri look his fill.

 

“It’s beautiful.   _ You’re  _ beautiful.  How long have you been wearing that?”

 

Viktor flushes, and lays down on his left shoulder, his left cheek flat against the bedspread.  It’s an awkward position, kneeling like this with his right elbow twisted behind himself to keep Yuuri’s view unobstructed, but it could be worse.  He doesn’t really mind.

 

Viktor has tied himself up in much more elaborate knots than this for Yuuri.

 

“Half… half an hour, or so.  Since I started getting ready,” Viktor answers, breathy, and Yuuri hums out an appreciative noise.

 

“Mmm.  Been thinking of me, putting all that on, wearing that toy inside you?  Pull on it a little, let it stretch you out.”

 

“I’m always thinking of you, Yuuri,” Viktor replies, taking the base of the plug in his hand, gripping it carefully so Yuuri can still see.  He tugs, a slow steady pressure, until the thickest part of the toy pops free. Viktor arches his spine, and pushes it back in, rocking into it, thighs slipping wider on the blanket.  

 

“That’s right, fuck yourself for me.  You look so pretty Vikta, all laid out like this.  Been thinking about it all day haven’t you? Waiting for me to get finished, impatient like always.  Did you get yourself off already, before you called?” Yuuri asks. 

 

It’s not an accusation, but there is something lilting in his tone, like he plans on making Viktor suffer just a bit if the answer is yes.  Viktor shakes his head fervently, moving the plug in short little motions, thighs twitching on every downstroke.

 

“No, I-  I didn’t, I waited for you, I was-”  Viktor cuts himself off, the glass of the toy hitting him just right and making him shake.

 

_ I was good,  _ he thinks, but doesn’t say.

 

It feels better when Yuuri tells him, sounds better in his voice— settles over Viktor like an embrace, warm and soft and reverent.

 

“That’s my good pet,” Yuuri says, and Viktor nods enthusiastically, unashamed of how pleased he is at Yuuri’s words.

 

How happy it makes him, just to be Yuuri’s  _ good pet. _

 

His left arm is squashed in between his body and the mattress, flailing aimlessly, so he lays his palm flat against his abdomen.  Viktor’s cock is throbbing with need, slick crown nudging into his knuckles, smearing precome across them. It would be easy to close his hand around it, but he hasn’t been given permission, so he doesn’t.  Fucks himself faster on the plug instead, breathing heavily, hair messy in his eyes. 

 

Yuuri is right, he’s been on edge all day, eager for the chance to see Yuuri, eager to talk to him.  

 

To collar himself, and put on his cuffs.

 

Lay himself bare, and know that Yuuri loves every last inch of him.

 

“Are you touching yourself?”  Yuuri asks, and Viktor shakes his head again, hair going even wilder as it tangles against the blanket.

 

“No, sir,” Viktor says, the title rolling careless off his tongue as it has a hundred times before, and Yuuri makes a noise in his throat.  He’s already close to coming, Yuuri’s gaze an open flame, bringing him up to edge like it always does. Like clockwork.

 

Like magic.

 

“Good, you’re being so good, Vitka.  Turn over for me. Lay back on those pillows, let me see your face.”

 

Viktor presses the plug in tight, and flips over on his back, arranging the pillows until he’s comfortable.  It’s better, being able to look up and see Yuuri, the telltale way his arm is moving down in his clothes. Viktor throws his knees wide, rubbing over the inside of his thighs, teasing at the stockings.  He tilts his head, drawing Yuuri’s eyes to the line of his neck, to the bright white of his collar. His cuffs are heavy on his wrists, on his ankles, a solid, reassuring weight. He slides his feet as far apart as he can, lifting his heels up off the bed, calves flexing.

 

“Like what you see, Yuuri?”  Viktor asks, blatantly fishing for compliments.  Yuuri just smiles, pushing his glasses higher on his nose, eyes darting up and down his screen.

 

“Nnn, you know I do.  You have something bigger than that plug, yes?”  

 

Viktor nods, reaching under the pillows behind him.  He pulls out another toy, a dildo this time; shimmering pink silicone, because Viktor’s nothing if not loyal to a theme.  It isn’t overly girthy, but it’s long, and ribbed, raised sections swirling serpentine down the sides and ending in an artificial sac.  The toy is one of Viktor’s favorites, not too rigid, easy to hold onto and angle right where he needs. Yuuri nods his approval, rearranging himself, tugging his cock free of his sweats.  Viktor just stares— hyper-focused, spellbound.

 

Yuuri’s cock is wet, dripping precome from the head, and Viktor’s mouth waters, because he knows just how Yuuri tastes.  How Yuuri smells right now, still sweaty from practice with lingering hints of his soap, his deodorant, his cologne. How soft his hair is, that his lips are chapped from being on the ice too long, dry and sore, especially without Viktor there to take care of him.

 

To make him take care of himself.

 

Viktor’s understandably distracted, watching Yuuri’s hand stroke slowly up and down, thumb rubbing circles over his crown.  He’s lost in sense memory, mind filling in the gaps that the distance between them has left, when Yuuri clears his throat.

 

“Vityasha,” Yuuri says, loud enough that it’s obvious he’s repeating himself.  Viktor snaps his eyes back to Yuuri’s face, utterly caught. Yuuri looks amused, and he grins, something soft and indulgent.  “Pull that plug out for me.”

 

Viktor wastes no time, taking the plug by its base and pulling.  There’s a moment of resistance, and then the toy slips out, leaving Viktor achingly empty.  He tosses it to the side in favor of the dildo, reaching under the pillow with his free hand to retrieve the bottle of lube he’s stashed there.  Slicking it up only takes a few seconds, and then Viktor is nudging the wide head of the toy against himself and glancing up to meet Yuuri’s gaze through the screen.

 

His legs are splayed so wide it’s almost painful, the silk of his stockings rumpled, damp in places from the lubricant.  When he swallows he can feel the pressure of his collar, and his wrist cuffs drag against his skin; against his thigh where he’s poised to fuck himself, against his abdomen where his free hand is tucked into his ribs.  His hair is getting long again, and it’s in his eyes, falling in tangles. His lipstick is smudged, Viktor can see it on the screen, pink smearing off to one side of his mouth. His cheeks burn, and he’s almost drooling, and Viktor knows Yuuri loves it.

 

Viktor is magnificent in disarray, but only when Yuuri is watching.

 

“Take it for me,”  Yuuri says, and Viktor couldn’t resist if he tried.

 

He presses the toy into himself in one long, smooth motion, mouth falling open as he’s stretched and filled.  The noise he makes when it’s fully seated in him is involuntary, a bruised sort of whine, high and breathless.  It’s mirrored through the speakers of his laptop, Yuuri moaning, the wet sound of him stroking himself loud and unmistakable.

 

“Do it, c’mon.  Fuck yourself for me.  Show me how you want it when I get back,” Yuuri hisses.  It’s urgent, and demanding, and Viktor feels bulletproof.

 

He’s the only one who can do this, who can make Yuuri fall apart.  Only Viktor, and he lets himself go, and takes what he needs. 

 

Viktor fucks himself just this side of  _ vicious,  _ wrist flying as he works the toy in and out with abandon.  He loses sight of the screen as his eyes fall shut, because as much as he loves watching Yuuri, he can’t seem to keep them open.  His mouth is moving of its own volition, whimpering and swearing and calling Yuuri’s name. Viktor’s feet slip over the blanket, spine bowing up off the bed, everything frantic and vital and totally out of his control.

 

Yuuri’s praising him again, telling him he’s perfect, and Viktor feels it like a blow.  It’s staggering, and his rhythm falters, fingertips of his free hand coming up to trail over his cock.  Barely there, trembling, the lightest of touches, and Viktor is breathing so fast it hurts, begging with every part of himself.

 

_ “Yuuri,  _ Yuuri, can I-  please, let me, let me—”  Viktor can’t make the words, but it doesn’t matter because Yuuri knows.

 

Yuuri always knows.

 

“Yeah, yes, do it, touch yourself, come for me, come on,” Yuuri urges, and Viktor closes his fingers around his cock, jerking at the contact.

 

He groans, wrist protesting the strain as he buries the toy in himself again and again.  It’s not what he wants, not Yuuri, but it’s more than enough right now. His cock pulses under his hand, wetter by the second, and his need is alive just beneath his skin.  Building, and building, and Viktor grits his teeth, and goes tense, teetering on the edge and ready to snap.

 

_ “Vitka,”  _ Yuuri moans, broken,and ruined, and Viktor tears his eyes open to watch.  

 

Yuuri comes in bursts over his fingers, onto his clothes, a stray drop landing on the column of his throat.  He shudders through it, glasses askew on his nose, sweaty and flushed and filthy.

 

Magnificent in disarray, always,  _ always,  _ and Viktor comes onto his stomach with a whine, head thrown back, thighs closing like a vise around his wrist.  He twitches, but keeps going, stroking and jerking until he’s totally soft, shivering with overstimulation.

 

Like Yuuri always does, and only when the last of the aftershocks have faded does he finally let go, wiping the mess off his stomach  and hands with the bedspread. Viktor slides the toy out, and tosses it away, not really troubled when it rolls off the bed and thumps onto floor.  Yuuri sighs, a knee-jerk response, persistent even through the lingering bliss of his orgasm. Normally he’s the one picking up after Viktor, cleaning all their toys, putting everything away.  Still, there’s something fond in the sound, an affectionate kind of exasperation, and Viktor stretches lazily, grinning at Yuuri. Wistful. A little sad.

 

“I miss you, solnyshko,” he says, and Yuuri reaches out like the sap he is to trace Viktor’s face on his screen.

 

“I miss you, too.  Only another couple of days.”

 

Viktor hums, already sleepy, wishing Yuuri was there to tuck him in tonight.

 

“You bringing me back something good?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri smirks.

 

“Of course I am,” he replies, and Viktor rubs his stockinged feet over the blanket, tilts his head into the pillows.

 

“Something pretty?”

 

Yuuri shrugs one shoulder, his face smug and certain.

 

“Something gold,” he says, and Viktor laughs.  His chest hurts, and he’s warm all over, and god, he loves this boy.

 

“Of course you are,” Viktor parrots, and melts further, liquid and sated.  

 

“I’ll be home soon,” Yuuri says, and home might be St. Petersburg, but that isn’t what Yuuri really means.

 

Home is wherever Viktor is, and he falls asleep with his collar still on, laptop open on his desk.

 

Magnificent.

 

Yuuri’s watching.   
  
  
  
  



End file.
